


Not Okay

by littlekittykanny



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: And so does Stim, Anxiety, Arya tries her best, Clone and Jedi cuddle the hurt away, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, I vented emotions from real life into this, Low Self-Esteem, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddle Buddies, Stimming as a coping mechanism, Suicidal Thoughts, feelings of worthlessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 06:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11435289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlekittykanny/pseuds/littlekittykanny
Summary: CT-9496 has failed his training course once again.CT-9496 does not cope with this well.Luckily, CT-9496 has someone he can rely on to pull him back to himself.





	Not Okay

He stared blankly at the blaster in his hand, numb and unfeeling. His fingers traced over the smooth metal in repetitive strokes, almost as if he were in a trance. He could see his hands were shaking as he did so, fighting to keep them steady.

He had failed again.

He had one more shot before being labeled defective…and he knew once he was defected there was no coming back.

His pulse had been racing as he took the exam. He had felt nauseous and an overwhelming sense of panic as his Jedi watched him aim. He missed three targets by the end of the training exam, but that was three too many. He had begun shaking after he’d missed the first one, a sinking feeling of disappointment and terror flooding through him.

He’d disappointed his Jedi. He shouldn’t have missed any of the targets. He passed the exams back on Kamino with flying colors. Why couldn’t he pass now? He knew what he was doing! He knew the ins and outs of his blaster as well as he knew his own body. There was no reason that he should have failed.

He could feel the disappointment from the Chiss general, her cold red eyes staring him down. She demanded to know if he’d been practicing. He responded that he had been training just as she instructed. She just shook her head and looked disgusted at him. She told him that he must not be doing enough considering the pitiful performance he'd given her. She snarled that he better not miss any the next time she tested him. After all, what good to her was a sniper she couldn't rely on to always be accurate? The way she had growled his designation made his blood go cold, hating the numbers that slipped past her lips.

At first there was nothing but terror and pain. He’d failed. He’d failed. Was he even capable of doing this? Had he made a mistake accepting this position? Sure he’d been trained to be a sniper on Kamino, but was that really the best for him? Maybe he should just become a bomb tech or comm tech, something else rather than a sniper. Maybe he should just give up and quit? Train to be something else, so that he would no longer be under such tight scrutiny from his general.

But there was part of him that wanted to be one. He’d always enjoyed the weapon. He’d watched countless other brothers practice and had wanted to do it himself…or at least that’s what he thought he’d wanted.

Now he was questioning everything-how he got off Kamino, how disappointed Captain Abiik would be if he decided he couldn’t be a sniper, if his life really mattered that much at all. Maybe being defected was what was meant to be.

He’d turned away from all his brothers after failing and isolated himself. The emotional pain was so overwhelming he’d punched the nearest wall. He hit the wall until his hands were throbbing and his knuckles were bruised and bloody.

He knew he was defective.

How?

He wanted to die.

Back on Kamino, he’d been happy, confident in his place by his brothers. Ever since he became a sniper, ever since he was placed under General Hrute’bika’dasderdu, he’d wanted nothing more than to take a blaster bolt to the head. He’d never felt more worthless in his arguably short lifespan. Like she said, there were countless brothers to replace him. What made him so special? What made him worth keeping alive? He was just CT-9496. Just CT-9496. Just a number. Just one of billions. Just another number...

He cried and cried silently until all his tears were used up. His head pounded, the pain centering behind his right eye. He realized at that moment he hadn’t eaten yet and likely would skip his next meal as well, no longer feeling hungry.

After the tears had passed his mind wanted to feel rage…but he couldn’t feel anything. He thought about being angry at General Hrute’bika’dasderdu, about how she expected perfection when she herself was not perfect. He wanted to be angry that this Chiss woman got angry with him and his brothers for not being able to read her mind when it came to battlefield positions. He wanted to be angry.

But all he felt when he thought about anger was a hollow sensation in his chest. He couldn’t gather the energy to be angry. He couldn’t even gather the energy to answer his comm. He knew his brothers would be looking for him as well as the commander.

The commander…she might have been one of the only things keeping him from eating his brother’s blaster. He wouldn’t be able to shoot himself with the rifle, but with his brother’s DC-17 would do the job nicely.

But then who would the commander come to when she was feeling lonely? Who would the commander come to when she felt inadequate, when she felt the sting of the general’s sharp words and even sharper blades? Who would hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay? Who would she share her tears with?

So instead of seeking out his brother’s pistol, he sat on the floor and traced his blaster rifle over and over, eventually fading into the numbness. He didn’t know what he was going to do if he failed a third time. Would the general really report him as defective and have him reconditioned? Or was she just saying that to scare him in order to make him do better?

Eventually he felt as if he had left his body. He was no longer there, stroking circles along the metal of his rifle. He was no longer in the ship. He was somewhere far away. Somewhere far away from the pain, the hurt, the torture of living with this Chiss witch. This wasn't happening to him. This couldn't be happening to him. None of this was real. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be real-

A soft sound broke through the haze. He couldn't hear what it was saying, but he knew he'd heard something. It came again and again, as soft as light rain against grass. It was saying something. He struggled to focus on just what it was saying.

It sounded like a name...it sounded like a girl.

After a few moments, a word cut through the haze. Stim. Stim. Stim...oh....oh....wait....who...was...Stim? Stim?

CT-9496 blinked a few more times before remembering.

He was Stim. His brothers had named him Stim. His commander called him Stim...and his commander was a girl.

Now Stim would hear the voice as clear as day.

“Stim? Stim, are you with me? Stim? Stim, can you hear me? Stim, why are you on the floor? What happened to your hands?”

Tired copper eyes looked up to see his commander kneeling down next to him. Her blonde hair was pulled tightly into a neat bun, her padawan braid by her right ear. Eyes, bluer than any sky he’d seen, stared in confusion and worry.

“I failed….I have one more shot….or else….”

The young woman said nothing, simply slumped to the ground beside him and held out her hands.

Stim placed his hands into hers, feeling slightly disappointed that the bruises were going to go away.

His commander said nothing, simply healed his hands before falling silent beside him.

“Ar’ika? Thanks.”

She smiled back before curling up into his side. She allowed Stim to wrap an arm around her before sighing, “Any time, vod. Any time.”

"Do we have to go back?" he asked softly.

"Not for a while," Arya replied, moving to wrap her arms around him.

Stim hummed before lifting her on to his lap. He curled around his small Jedi, enjoying the warmth and feeling of safety she brought with her presence. The corner of his mouth turned upward as he felt her make herself comfortable on his lap, his rifle discarded off to the side. He felt her tiny arms wrap around his neck as she leaned into him. He wanted to keep her like this-safe and feeling loved. Because at the end of the day there was one thing Stim knew-Arya Clarke loved her boys. She loved them, and to her, Stim was irreplacable...even if he believed he was defective.

He rubbed her back in the same circles he'd been rubbing on his rifle. She didn't complain, just sighed before pulling her hair out of it's bun. His hand found her hair and he began to play with it, releasing his anxiety. He'd be okay. He'd be okay as long as Arya was here. He'd be okay as long as she'd look after his six....he smiled at the thought.

Maybe...just maybe, he'd be okay.


End file.
